


Barbasol

by manhattan



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Humor, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manhattan/pseuds/manhattan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John goes through jealousy, denial, and shaving cream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barbasol

**Author's Note:**

> fandom secret i dont actually ship this which means i probably dont know how to write it and ???? im so sorry i tried
> 
> a giveaway fic for tumblr user emmilions. forgive any possible mistakes as this was written in an hour and after a few days without sleep ok bye

The first thing you have to know is: John’s not stupid, or anything.

It’s something people assume, kinda, sometimes, just because his glasses are square or because he has an overbite (who even decided that stupid people are identifiable just from the way they look, right). Well, the point is that he might be kind of naïve sometimes – his dad called being a little too innocent, but now his dad is dead and John’s trust is out of stock, check again in a few years when he’s not as bitter or as angry at the world, okay? We take credit cards.

Wait. Where was he going with this—

Right, being stupid: John’s not. But sometimes he feels kind of … left behind. Rose is the smartest person he knows, Jade’s a science genius despite the ditzy act she has going on, and Dave is a lazy shit who knows more words than his last English Lit teacher. You can’t blame a guy for feeling constantly undermined just ‘cause his friends are more given to fancy words or hard equations or incomprehensible art.

What you can blame a guy for, however, is feeling oddly bitter every time he spots his sister talking to his best friend. Which brings us to the first thing you have to know: John’s not stupid. Now, the second thing you have to know is: he thinks he’d rather be.

* * *

“You’re a giant douchebag,” Karkat drawls one day, in dry. John rolls his eyes and searches for something to throw at him. He doesn’t know how Karkat knows about it, but he finds himself being pretty okay with the whole thing. Karkat’s a pretty cool guy, after all, and he’s pretty sure they’re almost best friends. “It’s unbelievable how much stupidity you humans can fit inside that fleshy sacks of yours. Incredible.”

“I’m not taking that from someone who is thrice as single as me,” he replies. Karkat squawks indignantly at him.

* * *

He’d like to start off by saying the citric flavor inside him begins on a set date (wait, do human calendars still apply), or that he notices he’s frowning at Jade after the first time he sees the two of them talking, or _anything_ , but John’s a pretty honest guy and he decides that if he doesn’t lie to anyone else, then he’s not gonna lie to himself either.

Dave has always been his best friend; the red-lettered guy he knew he could count on, even timezones apart. They’ve always been kind of inseparable, in that goofy rom-com kind of way, the two high school besties who go pick up girls together or stay up all night eating pizza and playing Tekken 5, except they only meet after the world decides to end. So Dave has always been – well, _his_. It feels oddly possessive and creepy if he thinks about it for real, so he’d rather not, but it’s still what he feels. John and Dave, Dave and John.

So he denies the first stage instead of stepping up to have fallen for Dave (denial squared, Rose would be so proud). Three years is a long time when your only companions are a dead version of your best friend and your ecto-sister, and so John tells himself he’s just not used to being around other people. And, you know, so what if he doesn’t give two shits about Karkat’s romantic misadventures, or Rose’s homosexual discoveries, but always feels about to blow a gasket when Dave and Jade are less than five feet apart?

Is double mobius denial reach-around a thing? John thinks it should be, and then makes a mental note to reserve a patent. Just in case he can make money off it, or something.

* * *

Dave and him spend most of their time hijacking dream bubbles and making it happen. What it is, John’s not sure anymore (and he thinks Dave’s not sure either) – the fact is that they’re no longer thirteen-year-olds who do stupid kid stuff for no reason. Terezi’s slyness has rubbed off on Dave, who used to be so transparent; now he’s just a mumbling sixteen-year-old who doesn’t smile that much and looks like he’s always thinking about the next step. John feels left behind, so he does the first thing that comes to mind.

“Heads up,” he says, and then reaches into his sylladex and throws shaving cream at Dave’s face.

Dream Derse is lavender, starry, poetic – and John opts to act like a five-year-old. He thinks he sees a Dersite shake his head at him before walking away.

“Literally what the fuck,” Dave replies in a flat, even tone. John shrugs. It’s not one of his brightest moments, but something inside him cheers at the thought that no one else in the world has seen Dave scrub off shaving foam off his sunglasses, so it’s okay. “If you wanted to see me wipe sticky white shit off my face all you had to do was ask,” he adds, because Dave has this stupid fixation with homoeroticism John has never quite been able to explain. He feels himself light up like a Christmas tree at the sound of those words, that euphemism.

“Uhh,” he answers, narrowing his eyes, like he’s trying to see what’s on the blackboard but his glasses are at home and the blackboard is really far away. Dave takes off his glasses with a ‘tch’, wiping them with the end of his shirt. John’s brain is trying so hard he actually feels the back of his neck pulse in time with his heart. “Dave, we need to talk,” he adds, in a very serious tone of voice that turns up at the end, like he’s figured out it’s not such a good idea after all. It’s too late. He’s falling down the stairs. “I think I might be a homosexual after all.”

Dave puts his glasses back on and awards him with a smile.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he says, leaning in. His mouth is cool and soft, and their glasses hit and John doesn’t even care.

“Bluh, you taste like shaving cream,” John says, when they part, making a face. Dave elbows him in the gut.


End file.
